


Cheaters Don't Change

by 5wedishchef



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cheating, M/M, sad but happy resolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2018-11-14 07:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5wedishchef/pseuds/5wedishchef
Summary: Published on Tumblr and FF.net as Serial Cheater.Human!AU - DenNor with DenSpa, eventual SweNorWhen you find that special person, the one who you think you'll spend the rest of your life with... You'd do anything for them-anything to keep the love there, in your life... Even if that means getting on your knees and begging.Cheating never feels good, but Nor attempts to make him change, even if it's futile.The fourth chapter will contain explicit SweNor.





	1. Like a Dolly Parton Song

_I'm not sure you want to do this, Sig. Like look you don't deserve to do this to yourself…_

Sigve's phone lit up, drawing his attention away from the uncharacteristically silent movie night he and Mikkel were having. His brows knit slightly as he skimmed the text from his coworker, his stomach flipped a moment later when his phone buzzed again.

_Don't just leave me on read lmao_

He gave a soft snort then glanced over at Mikkel, who was watching _The Lobster_ with rather intense concentration. Sigve found himself gazing fondly at the Dane, a fondness that was almost painful. He uncrossed his legs which were propped against the coffee table and shifted them into his boyfriend's lap. Momentarily confused, Mikkel gave him a sideways glance then set about massaging Sigve's foot through the thick wool socks he was wearing. Sucking in a deep breath, Sigve reveled in the normalcy of the moment before unlocking his phone and typing out his response.

 _If I didn't think this was necessary I wouldn't have texted you. Give me his number.  
_ A few minutes passed and Sigve let the movie take him away again. The way the people in the movie spoke was somewhat disconcerting upon first tuning in—constantly texting was definitely taking away from the atmosphere the filmmakers worked so hard to create, but this conversation felt so much more important. He became aware that Mikkel was looking at him after a few moments, his nerves were getting the better of him and he'd been shaking his foot in his boyfriend's grip.

"Want me to stop?" Mikkel asked, his fingers digging into his tendon.  
"Mh-mhm…" Sigve gave him a soft smile.  
"You're breaking your own rule, texting away on that thing," he tossed his head towards his phone, "You doin' alright, Sig? Something with work?"

Well, the king of excuses picked out an excuse for him, so Sigve didn't struggle to fabricate a story about how his buddies at work were trying to plan some office get together for later that month. It didn't take much to make it work—Mikkel didn't seem too interested to begin with. This had been a common theme. He'd try to talk about developments in his work relationships or just office drama but Mikkel refused to take the time to learn the names of the people he was talking about and he constantly forgot the details of the prior story so there was no point. His lack of curiosity stung. It seemed that he'd just lost interest with him as a whole…

He was dragged from his self-pitying thoughts as his phone lit up again, this time with an attached contact. _Toni Carriedo_ with the number attached. He flipped to his notes to compare the contact to the unsaved number that he'd pulled off of Mikkel's phone. They were exactly the same. Sigve's mouth went dry and his hands suddenly felt restless. He closed his phone and sat with his hands in his lap for a moment before staring at the TV, trying to find it in himself to get interested in the movie again.

He wanted his feet out of Mikkel's lap. He wanted to be anywhere else but on the couch with him, and the thought that he'd be sharing a bed with him tonight was just… It was too much. After forcing himself to sit still for a solid minute, he pulled his feet back to himself and tucked them tightly under him. His face was completely still, but he felt like something was shredding his insides. Sigve wasn't typically a crier, and this little bump in the road wasn't going to change that about him. But… God, did this hurt. He needed space.

And with that he picked himself up and gave his boyfriend a tired smile and told him he was going to go shower then lay down; he was feeling sick.

 

As he stood under the hot water of the shower he let his head fall limply. Staring at his feet, Sigve tried to understand. What had changed between the two of them? Had he done something wrong or was this just something inside of Mikkel? He couldn't parse it apart.

About a month ago, something in their 3-year relationship had changed. Mikkel switched his password on his phone and wouldn't let Sigve in, which inherently hadn't seemed like the worst thing in the world. Mikkel offered up some excuse that he'd read about the dangers of having someone know your codes on that snapchat, Mashable daily reading thing. Sigve had brushed it off. Then, Mikkel began to keep a closer hold on his phone.

Once, Sigve found it on the counter and went to put on some music—only to remember that he didn't know the code anymore. Just as he was setting it down, his startled boyfriend was there. Charming as ever, Mikkel spun up something about needing to make a phone call to someone, somewhere for work. Sigve had thought nothing of it at the time and willingly handed him his phone back.

Then, their time together seemed to evaporate. Fewer dates, less time alone together, and far more alone time for Sigve. Mikkel always seemed to be out. He was working, going drinking with his friends, working late, getting more drinks, late night gym trips, he joined a cycling group… Nothing unusual for Mikkel, really. But it was just the combination of everything.

Sigve didn't snoop. He prided himself on this. As a partner, he felt that snooping and constant checking of your partner's phone showed signs of an unhealthy relationship. After 3 weeks of minimal contact and a wild swing from over affection to almost none, Sigve found himself feeling in need of reassurance. So, he watched Mikkel unlock his phone one day and memorized the passcode.

And if this story was a good one, Sigve would have forgotten about the code and had a direct conversation with Mikkel and addressed his issues. But that's not what happened at all. Instead he found texts between Mikkel and some random number that spanned the past two months. At first, they started out platonic enough but the most recent ones were… Explicit to say the least. And there were photos. So many back and forths between the two men.

Sigve hadn't noticed when he had started crying, but his nostrils were pouring mucous and the steam wasn't making breathing any easier. He could hardly feel where his tears ended and the water ended and he liked it that way. He shifted to lean against the wall and cried. He had stuffed his feelings down far enough that he had been able to ignore them but now they were all rushing to the surface. Every sign that Mikkel was acting different came back to him and the confusion and sadness that he'd forced himself to not feel were fresh as day. He was gasping at this point. The hot water was calming usually, but the steam was making it hard for him to breathe. Gasping and snotty, Sigve's sobs ripped out of him silently, wracking his entire frame.

The stupid man had him turned in knots. He loved him—it had been three years and Sigve was the happiest he'd ever been. Never in his life had he found someone who could make him smile quite like Mikkel. They'd known each other since they were children but it wasn't until they were both out of college and in the working world that they realized they were in the same city. They met for coffee and the rest was history. It was the dream. It was perfect. It was wonderful…. In the beginning it was all Sigve could do to keep Mikkel. The world had so much to offer and while Sigve knew he wasn't plain by any means, there was just so much out there. And keeping Mikkel tethered was like trying to tame a falcon: hard, but possible.

The introduction of this Toni person had, seemingly thrown the balance. And Sigve couldn't really blame Mikkel. He'd seen the photos. The man was gorgeous. Fit, trim, tall, tanned, handsome—with a smile much like Mikkel's own. They could have met anywhere… The gym, a bar, work… Well, Sigve had suspicions it was through the bar Mikkel made a habit of going to. His coworker, Matthew, tended to drop by there with his sister every now and again and when Sigve gave the description of the man—Toni—Matthew knew who he was talking about immediately.

He was making himself feel sick again. He needed to figure out what he was going to do.

Confrontations always went smoother in public, right? That's what Sigve tried to tell himself as his anxiety spiked. It was about ten minutes into waiting that he wished he'd kept his prescription for Xanax or that it was past 3PM so he wouldn't feel quite so terrible being in public drunk. Not that drunk, mind you. Buzzed. Something to take the edge off so he wouldn't feel quite so… terrible.

Every brunette to enter the café made his heartrate jump up about a hundred beats per minute. By the time the proper brunette walked into the café Sigve's poor heart was about to give out. But the second he finally saw Toni he wished he could go back to waiting for the guy to show up. He'd texted him off Mikkel's phone and asked him to meet him here and up until now he'd never seen the man in person. He could understand why Mikkel was fucking him, he gave off this electric energy and his features were stunning.

That being said, seeing his full figure only dredged up mental images of him and Mikkel fucking or whatever it was that they did. That was what sealed the deal. Sigve's hands and feet felt cold as he stood. He clutched his cup of coffee in shaking hands and headed towards the table Toni had seated himself at as he tapped away on his phone. Sigve loomed beside him; Toni didn't look up.

"Ah, give me a second I'm waiting for someone-," He glanced up to see Sigve and gave him a confused smile when he realized he wasn't staff. "Oh, uh, sorry can I help you?"  
God dammit, even the way he speaks is beautiful. Sigve couldn't help but compare Toni's soft rolling of his r's and tutting of his t's to his own harsh r sounds and his morphing of t's to d's.

"Are you Toni Carriedo?" He felt totally numb, his brain was on auto-pilot.  
"Yes, I am. Antonio, but same difference. I'm sorry, do I know you?" Though he still looked confused he flashed a brilliant smile. Sigve sank into the chair across from him, earning an even more confused look. "I'm sorry, I have someone who's coming…" He began.

Sigve shook his head until Antonio fell silent, he was beginning to look antsy. Sigve stilled himself with a sip of coffee.

"Mikkie isn't coming." He used the pet name with little affection and the word felt like glass in his mouth. "I don't need to hear anything from you I just… I need you to listen to me."

"…Alright," Antonio looked downright concerned at this point.

Sigve sucked in a deep breath and set the coffee down on the table, his eyes trained on the stains near the rim of the cup. As he sighed it out, he felt like he was going to completely deflate. The chipper demeanor he'd been trying to sell fell away with that sigh and it lay in a heap on the ground at his feet. What was left, whatever little emotion he'd been able to knit together was all that was left.

"I don't know," he began, delicately licking his lips, "what it is you have with Mikkel Jensen. I don't—I can't know. But Antonio, this man has been the light of my life since I was a child. I… I am not a happy person. But he makes me happy.  
You are, I mean… You know. You wake up and see how you look. You know that you've got me beat in looks. You're fit, you're tall, you're… You're perfect. You could have any person man you ever wanted and all you'd have to do is pass them a wayward glance and… And they'd fall into your fucking lap."

Sigve's voice was low but his gaze was steady as he looked at Antonio. After a moment he let his eyes drop.

"I can easily understand how you could… You could take him. You could have anyone, Antonio." He coughed and cleared his throat before continuing on. "I don't want to sound too melodramatic but, Mikkel is the love of my life. And I do not think—" his voice cracked and he quickly adverted his gaze to the lid of his coffee as he paused.  
"I—I'm—," Antonio began, stumbling with words with a pain in his eyes.  
"Please. Just let me finish."

They sat in silence for a moment. The bustle of the café continued on around them, but the two men seated by the window seemed frozen against the chaos.

"I'm begging you, please don't take him just because you know you can. If what you have is… If it's something more than simple lust—I don't… I can't condone it. I'm having this talk with you Antonio, because… Because my happiness hinges on whatever you decide to do. Please. Don't take him, even though you can."

With that, Sigve stood up abruptly. He sniffled softly and shoved his free hand into his pocket, his lukewarm coffee in the other hand.

"Hope I didn't interrupt your day," he said stiffly before turning to go.

"I didn't know," Antonio caught his elbow and Sigve visibly recoiled. Whether it was the touch or the words was unclear.

"Next time you should _ask_ ," he spoke softly but the words came out with venom.

And with that, Sigve made his way out of the café and onto the street. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, taking in a moment to enjoy the warm breeze that danced between the buildings. Nothing had changed about his physical appearance but he felt so… exposed. When he let go of that thick skin to Antonio he peeled completely out of it and that protection was lying in that café while Sigve was walking back to his small apartment in the outskirts of the city. He couldn't hold back the tears that welled in his eyes, but they felt somewhat refreshing this time around. There was no running from it anymore.

 

A week passed and Mikkel was in a blue mood that fluctuated between depressed and angry. But there was no mention of his intervention. His moods swung far from raging—slamming cabinets and stomping through the house—to dismal—not leaving bed for hours, not speaking or returning texts—within mere hours. To anyone who didn't know him better, it would seem like a bad week. But Sigve knew him well—it was how Mikkel dealt with rejection.

And as that mood passed, Sigve felt some semblance of hope start to come back into his chest. It hurt like hell to hope again but it was better than the alternative.


	2. The End of the Tunnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There comes a point when you know the truth, but you lie to yourself to make it better. And sometimes that works. Other times the truth continuously beats you over the head with a hammer until you can't stand it anymore and you break. Let's call it a coping mechanism.

              Sigve sat idly, tapping the end of his pen against his lips as he stared down at his notebook in front of him. His therapist had insisted he start journaling to stop from completely bottling up his emotions and thoughts. He let out a low sigh and surveyed the page staring up at him. Bottling up was his specialty. He turned introversion into a talent.  It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the full range of human emotions or that he didn’t know how to express himself, he just very rarely felt pressed to talk about how he felt. Which would eventually lead to…bottling up. So, thanks to some gentle pushing, he did his best to write down what he was feeling at the end of his day. It was more to show his therapist that he was actually putting in work than anything else, but it played into his routine at this point.

              It had been two years since he’d spoken to Antonio about seeing Mikkel while the two of them had been together, and things were going swimmingly. That is, if Mikkel having three new partners, being active on a gay dating app, along with financing his dates from their joint banking account, and Sigve developing an ulcer is considered “swimmingly”.

              Sigve had done his part in trying to battle off these suitors but he just burned out. So, he let it go on while agonizing over the details. He knew the code to Mikkel’s phone and would check every now and again—he was getting sloppy honestly. He would just leave his phone out nowadays. It seemed like a big secret that everyone knew.

Berwald, a used-to-be close friend who owned a local restaurant, had reached out on multiple occasions to offer him a place to stay if he needed it. Sigve hadn’t spoken directly to Berwald about the ongoing issue, but the history between Berwald and Mikkel made it safe to assume that Berwald had a good grasp of the problems in their relationship.

              While Sigve wrote about his day and his issues with family nightly, it always came back to Mikkel. He would go to lengths to describe the pain that Mikkel inflicted upon him in his journal each day but when it came time to speak with his therapist he would find something else to psycho-analyze about himself. He talked about his lack of social skills and his issues making friends. His therapist would then bring up the fact that he needed to be sure to be aware of codependency developing between himself and Mikkel. Sigve would move to a different topic. Body issues, stress at work, how to manage a group of individuals at work who were incredibly intelligent without talking down to them, the cons of buying a dog, his fear of falling out of trees that came from somewhere in his childhood, his major issues with the noises people made when they eat. He just kept putting it off. He kept letting their lives become more and more entangled because…

              Because maybe Mikkel would see that they share a bank account and remember that Sigve received the statements. Maybe he would stop to think about how many hours Sigve had to work to afford _their_ apartment that they _shared_ because they decided to make that step. Maybe, when Sigve played Mikkel’s favorite song that he hated, Mikkel would remember telling him that the way he danced made him fall in love. Maybe Mikkel would feel how cold Sigve treated him at night. Maybe Mikkel would go to that shitty Italian place that they went to on their first date and remember that feeling of young love that they had. Maybe buying groceries that catered to both of their specific tastes would remind him… Of something. Maybe he should just stop trying so hard.

              He’d rationalized this thousands of times. He’d written it down in almost every journal. He’d listed hundreds of reasons that he had given Mikkel to stay with him and yet… Mikkel wandered—No. He didn’t wander. He breezed in and out of his life as if they weren’t in a 6-year-long relationship. As if Sigve didn’t give him every piece of his heart as some masochistic appeasement tactic. And it was killing Sigve, pushing him further and further from everyone he knew and any sort of happiness.

Hollowness swept over him the way the tide pummels the shore. His stomach burned but for the first time in six long years, Sigve saw the end of the tunnel. It wasn’t going to change and it wouldn’t get better. Mikkel didn’t change for Berwald and he wouldn’t change for himself. He was wasting his life. He was accomplished—an engineer who was more than capable of being self-sufficient. He was attractive, under-valued, and on a track for lupus if his stress level remained at the level it had been throughout the past two years. His Xanax dosages had gone up while his self-esteem plummeted to lows that he hadn’t felt since highschool. He was having issues maintain friends at work because he felt no reason to put effort in any other relationships. He felt like he was likely developing some kind of depression as well.

His therapist once lectured him on how “relationships are supposed to bring out the best in people” and if this was his best… Then he was shit out of luck. 

“It has to end,” he said quietly.

              It was the first time he’d said it out loud and it broke his heart even further than it already was. He would have cried, but it wouldn’t have done anything in that moment. He had realized about a year ago that crying didn’t fix anything. That, and that Mikkel was shit at comforting him… Sigve closed his journal and glanced up at the clock. Mikkel should be home soon. The thought made his heart leap into his throat.

_I guess that’s a sign,_ he thought apathetically, making his way towards the bathroom to grab half a Xanax and another Advil. The Xanax was probably not the best idea, but with the rapid level that his heartrate was accelerating he would need it to even consider talking to Mikkel tonight. And he _was_ going to—do it, not just consider it. He pressed his tongue firmly against his teeth, trying to quell the anxiety that was turning his stomach in knots. After a few seconds of staring blankly at the bottle in his hand he shook his head and popped it open.

              The rational part of him was going to have to dig himself out of this mess. He could still change. A tied bank account, both their names on the apartment lease, furniture that they’d bought together over the years, plans for an upcoming vacation together, the fact that their friends ran in somewhat similar circles. There was just so much to piece apart once they were done and he had no idea how to do it. He’d molded their relationship to become that intertwined so Mikkel wouldn’t just… up and leave. He could change.

              He walked out into the living room and looked at all the pieces of their lives that were scattered across the room. Layers of their life were built up like Jenga bricks; they were going to come crashing down. His heart was still pounding as he let himself collapse onto the couch to wait. It would be easier to keep going. Easier to ignore it all. Easier to have someone to call your own than be alone. And yet, this couldn’t be what his life was supposed to look like at this point. His stomach was burning like crazy.

              As he sat, the silence set in. This was what being alone felt like. He glanced around the cozy home and took it all in. The place was a mix of themselves—what would happen when Mikkel’s things were gone? What kind of couch would he buy that was just for himself? It was a stupid thought but even his living conditions reflected that fact that in his 26 years of living, there wasn’t a time that he’d lived alone. And there was no reason for him to get a place with a roommate when he was earning a full salary so… He’d have to figure it out.

              He was pulled out of his thoughts by the door opening. If he could sink into the couch and disappear he would have. The hollow feeling in his chest wouldn’t let him. The ache was deep enough to be a motivation to never, ever feel like this again. And so, even though he wasn’t sure his legs would keep him upright, he stood. Mikkel gave him a slightly confused smile and maneuvered his way around the couch to wrap Sigve in a warm hug. For a second, Sigve closed his eyes and tried to ignore the oncoming conversation. For a second, he wanted to believe that this would pass. But the smell of perfume made its way into his nostrils and he couldn’t just stand there.  

“You smell like perfume.”

              Mikkel’s brows furrowed for a moment then the look melted into what Sigve called the “kicked dog” face that was Mikkel’s go to when a fight was brewing.

“Must be the girl at work’s, she drowns herself in that shit—Sig.” He moved to take him by the arms to pull him back close. “You know I’d never—.”

“Eight.” Sigve interrupted, taking a step back. “You’ve fucked eight separate people in the six years that we’ve been exclusive. Three women, five men.” He felt like a balloon losing air. Each word took something out of him.

              The roller coaster of emotions that Mikkel was going through was scary. Disbelief, realization, denial, to a blank stare.

“Sig, why are you doing this to yourself?” Mikkel asked, his voice a little too soft.

“Why am I doing this to myself? What exactly am I doing, Mikkie?” That hollowness was quickly replaced with anger. “What have I done that makes this my fault?”

“You always go and put your nose into everything, babe,” his voice was sweet—understanding. He held out an arm with the intention of pulling Sigve into his chest. Sigve stared at the extended arm in silence then shuffled backwards.

              Mikkel was terrible with silence, Sigve knew that. The longer he stood there, not looking at him, the more antsy Mikkel became. The heavier that silence became the more likely Mikkel was to start spewing bullshit excuses. Sigve wanted to hear what he had to say but he wasn’t going to beg for it.

“Sigve,” Mikkel moved closer and placed himself where Sigve had no choice but to look at him. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

              He was going to chew a hole in his cheek before the night was over if he wasn’t careful. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding then set his jaw and stared hard into Mikkel’s face. The soft, caring expression on his face made his blood pressure rise.

“That’s really your response to me telling you that I know? You turn it on me? You give me that pitying look and tut your tongue as if I’m some curious child who’s found out that Santa isn’t real.”

“You’ve always known who I am, Sig…” Mikkel was watching him. Sigve saw the intelligence in his eyes and was once again reminded who it was that he was dealing with. Berwald once called him the master manipulator and that didn’t seem too far off base.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” The blinding smile Mikkel gave him made his insides twist.

“Of course I am, Sig, that’s basically my pet name.” He laughed softly and moved both his hands up to hold Sigve’s shoulders. “You know that better than anyone, babe.”  
              Sigve dropped his gaze for a second, he had expected some of this behavior. Just because he knew Mikkel and how Mikkel reacted to being found in the wrong. But this shit. This shit was toxic. Sigve knew that what Mikkel was doing was obvious and _wrong_ but he felt guilty for bringing it out of the dark into the light.

“Sig, I love you. You’ve got a beautiful heart and a wickedly sharp mind and… I’m stunned by you every day, but,” the grip on his shoulders tightened, “you really gotta stop snooping into my shit. You always get yourself so wound up and then I gotta come and unwind you.”

              Sigve swallowed thickly. It wasn’t an admission of guilt but it was on the right track. The denial was worse than an outright admission of guilt and he couldn’t quite explain why. “Then _you_ should have just left your business _yours_ then. Spending money from our joint account on your _business_ makes it my business. _You’re_ my business.” His voice was low but strong. And he took pride in that.

              Mikkel’s grip tightened a little bit more and Sigve’s heart jumped into his throat praying he wasn’t about to regret his tone. And for just a second, he was afraid he just might… But then Mikkel let go, sucking his teeth at him.

“It didn’t mean anything, Sigve. It was just sex.”

              Sigve tilted his head to the side and his brows shot up. “And that makes it any better?”

              There it was. He was free of feeling paranoid and obsessed, he said it. He had known that he was right, of course. But hearing Mikkel admit that he’d been cheating somehow made him feel lighter. The elephant wasn’t quite so big anymore.

“It means it wasn’t important. It was just casual sex.” Mikkel’s face was unreadable. And that was unnerving. Throughout all of their fights, Sigve had never seen Mikkel not show his expressions on his face. He didn’t look like himself.

“You don’t take your fuckbuddies on casual dates. You don’t buy the people you’re _just_ fucking gifts. The people you’re _just fucking_ don’t talk about you like you’re their god damn partner.”

              Expression returned to Mikkel’s face as he shoved past Sigve, running a hand through his hair roughly. He paced the length of the kitchen twice before whirling on him.

“You fucking TALKED to these people? What the fuck is wrong with you. What, did you run them off? Did that make you feel big and strong, Sigve? Like you had some power over me? What else did you do, go through my phone and social shit? I bet you tailed me to work on some days.” Mikkel was yelling.

              Sigve was confused, but he wasn’t frightened. He could tell where this was coming from, but he hadn’t been expecting it. This was a side of Mikkel he rarely saw. He pulled out his phone without taking his eyes off Mikkel was was now watching him intently. He probably should have seen this coming.  

“Oh, so now you’re just going to sit there silent. Where’s my fucking answer?”

_Come get me from the apartment right now_

              Sigve typed the message without looking to the best of his ability. He shook his head at Mikkel, his jaw still set, and hit send.

“What answer do you deserve, Mikkel?”

              Riled up, Mikkel puffed out his chest, “I deserve--,” he began before Sigve cut him off.

“I’ve given you six years. You deserve nothing more from me.” With that he made a beeline for the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

              With his back pressed against the cool wood he waited, heart thundering in his ears. He waited to see if Mikkel was coming in after him for a good minute before pushing off the door and grabbing a duffel bag and packing. His thoughts were racing. Why hadn’t he packed this earlier?—Probably some part of him wanted Mikkel to laugh off the accusations and give him a good excuse. One that he could believe so the two of them could go back to being together. That, or he could give himself the benefit of the doubt and acknowledge that this was a hard step to finally make. It was a large change.

              He kicked himself and chuckled softly. He wouldn’t let it be easy, would he? He then turned towards his dresser and grabbed an assortment of clothes and shoved them into the bag. There was a loud clattering from the kitchen. Sigve went back to chewing on the insides of his cheeks while his stomach ate away at itself. Hopefully Mikkel was an adult enough to not throw out his things if he left…

He couldn’t let himself go there, honestly. Just the thought of that caused his stomach start acting up. He rested his hand on the handle to the bathroom and took a deep breath, really hoping Mikkel wouldn’t be in there when he opened the door.

              Upon entering, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw it was empty. At least he could get his medicine so he didn’t melt down as soon as he left. He grabbed as much of his stuff from the bathroom as he could. Medicine, a toothbrush, his hair products, and skin care things. He’d leave their joint stuff for now. He looked over the pile on the counter and tapped his foot, trying to think if he was missing anything. Just as he was loading it into his bag his phone went off: Berwald finally texted back.

              _Finally_ , he thought, once again laughing at himself. It had been about three minutes since he sent the text and considering the fact that Berwald was likely at work the response was pretty timely. He shouldered the bag and opened his phone to read the text.

_I’ll be there in 6, sorry I can’t make it sooner I’m walking out now_

              Sigve’s chest felt a bit lighter. He didn’t have many, if any, ride or die’s, but at the moment he felt like he had one. At the very least he knew someone would be there soon if Mikkel decided to throw a right fit. With that thought in mind he zipped his bag and stepped out into the hallway that led to the living room and kitchen. He steeled himself then headed for the door.

              Mikkel was sprawled on the couch, a drink in hand, staring blankly at the wall. He pulled from it angrily about every minute. He had a pretty high tolerance, so Sigve wasn’t worried about any kind of drunken belligerence—not for now at least. He planned on just walking past him and leaving but he realized he needed his keys to get back in later. They were hanging right by the television which was, as fate would have it, directly in Mikkel’s line of sight.

              He grabbed the keys as quickly as he could, but he still felt Mikkel’s eyes on him. He felt some kind of wild guilt, as if Mikkel looking put out and sad was something he should be worried about. He swallowed and tried to push away the feeling. But Mikkel’s low voice cut through the tension filled silence before he had managed to make it all the way to the door.

“So that’s it? Six years down the drain just like that? No goodbye, just walking out the door.” Sigve stared at the door in front of him for a second before glancing back to look at him. Mikkel hadn’t moved.

“You threw it down the drain the second you fucked someone else.”  
“I still love you, Sigve.” He sounded hurt.  
“That’s too bad, Mikkie,” Sigve said wryly, opening the door. “Because I fucking hate you.”

              With that, he stepped out into the warm summer night. The background noise of the city swept him up and gave him a feeling of hope. Even with his life in pieces, the city was still alive. He was still alive—alone and alive and trying to change.

              A gasp of a sob ripped through him as he made his way down the stairs to wait for Berwald to pick him up. This time, the tears felt cleansing. Things felt like they were going to get better. He didn’t feel whole, but maybe that would come with time. He put a reminder in his phone to call his therapist in the morning.

             

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited and we're finally moving right along again. Thanks for bearing with me.


	3. Once it's Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time slows down just long enough to give Sigve time to think.

              After throwing his bag into the backseat of Berwald’s car, he crumpled into the passenger seat. The adrenaline of leaving had worn off and that hollow, empty feeling was starting to swallow him. And he was ready to let himself slide into it—but Berwald wasn’t.

“What happened?” He asked, glancing over at him as he finally broke the silence they’d been sitting in.

              Sigve opened his mouth, but the thought of explaining it all made his throat seize. He didn’t want to be reprimanded for how stupid he’d been for staying. He didn’t want someone else to realize how badly he’d fucked up. So, he closed his mouth and shook his head; hoping Berwald would catch the motion out of the corner of his eye.

              Berwald hummed in response and turned on the radio, clearing his throat as he flipped through the channels. He settled on some college radio station that was playing folk, or country. Sigve couldn’t quite tell. It was pretty shitty, honestly. He sucked his teeth and laughed softly.

“Are you gonna torture me with whatever this shit is until I talk?”

              Berwald quirked a brow and tossed him a short look, then turned his attention back to the road. Sigve didn’t miss the smile tugging at his lips. Berwald’s ‘playful’ wasn’t quite as energetic as most, but Sigve appreciated the muted emotions. It was a reminder that feelings didn’t have to be so _big_. There were more subtleties than just love, pain, indifference, and hatred. And in this moment when he wanted to drown in emptiness, quiet affection felt like a life preserver.

              The drive went by in relative silence. But there was no tension in the air as there was no real need to talk. Sigve wondered why he hadn’t turned to Berwald more in the past few years. They’d known each other for a long while, but Berwald was the kind of person who rarely initiated planned interactions. Thus, as Sigve stopped going to his bar as frequently, their relationship dwindled down to get togethers here and there, but little else. All of that aside, Berwald was reliable in times of crisis. And big enough that if punches were thrown, he could hold his own better than most of his friends. But it rarely came to that…

              Before he knew it, the car was stopped and they were parked on the street outside of Berwald’s house. It dawned on him that he’d never actually been here… They would normally met at cafés or saw each other at the different arts festivals that went on in the city. The lawn was well groomed and Berwald had a small herb garden that was decorated with carved wooden statues. They were gnarled and rustic. He had no doubt they were handmade. While he couldn’t make out exactly what they were in the dark, he appreciated them nonetheless.

              Berwald grabbed is bag and led the way in his house. The doorway seemed tiny for a man of his stature, but walking through the door Sigve saw that it was, in fact, normal sized. The man was just a giant.

“Welcome, welcome,” Berwald said, setting the duffel bag down by the couch. “It’s small, but it’s home. And officially mine, so I can’t complain.”

Sigve saw the proud smile and nodded appreciatively. The hallways were narrow, and the kitchen didn’t look too spacious, but the house _was_ beautiful. It had an aged, rustic beauty about it in the middle of the city. It was an impressive feat.

“A decent amount of wood,” Sigve noted. Most of the art seemed to be made from wood and metal—but mostly wood.

“It’s what I do in my spare time. I’m at the festivals for’a reason, ya know?” Berwald had moved into the kitchen and was rummaging around at this point.

“I suppose I’d never thought about it… I assumed you were like me and appreciated the art. I never saw you at a stand, ya know.” Sigve offered in his defense, but the fact still stood. He really didn’t know very much about Berwald. Whether this reflected more on Berwald’s reluctance to speak about himself of his own self-absorption wasn’t clear.

“Ready to talk?” Berwald asked, strolling back into the living room with a bowl of strawberries in hand.

“Strawberries?” Sigve asked, avoiding the question at hand.

“A sensual fruit and a nutritious snack,” Berwald said, sitting heavily on his couch. “Sit down, talk. It helps.”

“What if I’m not ready to talk?” Sigve sat all the same.

              Berwald noisily ate a strawberry, earning him a glare that lasted the duration of the ordeal. Once he was done molesting Sigve’s eardrums, he shrugged. “Then you wouldn’t have sat down. And I doubt you would have requested _me_ to come get you. We don’t often talk, but when we do it has to weight to it. That and I know Mikkel Jensen.”

              Mikkel’s name rolled perfectly off his tongue, syllabus weighted just right. It sounded less clunky than Americans trying to pronounce it. It regained its beauty for a moment and Sigve was reminded how the Scandinavian languages stood apart beautifully from English. The thick sounds weren’t clumsy and the soft h’s fit together so well.

“What do you want me to say? I wanted to him to stay with me. I tried my hardest to make him stay.”   
“He didn’t leave, Sigve. You did.” Berwald reminded him, eating yet another strawberry in an ungodly loud manner.

“Yet he still cheated. He kept fucking someone else. Every few months it was someone else and no matter what I did to get rid of them he just found another one. Six fucking years and he didn’t catch a hint. Joint bank account, shared apartment, talk of getting a pet—,” He held back tears and was doing a decent job until he caught Berwald’s icy stare.

“You knew?” There was a tinge of disgust in Berwald’s voice, and he was refusing to look away.   
              As soon as he nodded the tears started to fall. He tried holding them back, but his throat constricted too much for him to hold it in any longer. All he could do was cry. He inhaled shakily and pulled a pillow in front of his chest.

“I-I… I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want him to leave, so I talked to the guy, ya know? I asked him—I fucking begged him to let me have Mikkel. And… And I mean it worked.” He didn’t understand Berwald’s anger or irritation or… Whatever it was that Berwald was feeling towards him in the moment. “I love—d… I loved him. I loved him so much and I wanted him to be who I _knew_ he was…” He collected his nerve enough to hold Berwald’s gaze.

“You’re worth more than that, Sig.” It was disbelief that Sigve was feeling. That incredulous realization that Sigve devalued himself for Mikkel that much took him aback.  “I don’t… I cannot say I understand, ‘cause I don’t. You’d just wait for him to change?”

“I wasn’t waiting! I was trying, I tried everything. I ran them off…” He squeezed his eyes shut as his tears fell heavier than before, clutching the pillow tighter to his chest. “I changed how I dressed,” he forced out between labored breaths, “I tried… to go on more dates, keep him interested you know?” He looked over at Berwald and sobbed, “I don’t know where I went wrong.”

              Berwald’s face softened as he set the bowl of strawberries onto the side table, then moved closer to Sigve to offer him some kind of comfort. While he didn’t look like the gentle type, he had a kind side of him that didn’t quite match his exterior. It didn’t take Sigve much coaxing to get him to lean into Berwald and bawl. The minutes crawled by, but after a while Sigve regained some composure.   
“D’ya want my opinion on it?” He asked, looking down at Sigve’s blotchy, red face. Sigve let out a weak sigh then nodded, resting his face on Berwald’s thigh.

“Well,” Berwald blinked owlishly, removing his glasses for the impending conversation, “I think ya went wrong when you decided to wait on Mikkel to change--,” he started but Sigve grumbled something and he stopped. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing with Timo?” Sigve asked, louder this time.

“No.” Berwald’s answer was likely harsher than he intended. Berwald carefully placed his hand on his shoulder in apology. “No, they’re not the same at all, Sig. Timo… Timo’s straight. I’ve asked him if he’d like to get drinks before and… I was given a pretty firm, ‘thanks for the offer, but no thanks’. And while I’m not happy with that answer, I keep living my life. I didn’t and don’t plan on trying to change Timo. If he suddenly changes his mind—Lord knows, I’d take him out the second I was given the okay to. But that’s not gonna happen. And I can’t do anythin’ about it.”

              The silence stretched on once again. Berwald went back to eating strawberries. Sigve did his best to ignore the fact that laying in this position intensified every sound Berwald made as he ate the fruit. It made his skin crawl but he tried to put it out of his mind.

That was the most he’d ever heard the Swede say in one sitting. Ever. And while it hurt to hear—hear it and process it, not just be talked at—the difference between obsession and being in love with someone was clear.

              The tears came back with a vengeance this time. He’d dug this hole and now he’d have to crawl out of it. He wasn’t sure if he was crying because his heart was broken or he just so overwhelmed with the prospect of having to address the part of him that had fueled this. He felt like most pathetic person currently and the prospect of years of working to get away from Mikkel and that life was daunting.

“It takes two to be in a toxic relationship,” Berwald gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and peered down at Sigve, squinting a little to make out all his features without his glasses. “It’s a relationship. That’s two people. It’ll be okay, Sig. Just takes a bit.”

              Sigve didn’t stop crying for a while, everything he’d written down in his journals was spewed to Berwald who listened in near silence. Where he needed more explanation, he’d ask, when noises were appropriate, he’d encourage Sigve to continue. While normally he wasn’t the most expressive of people, Berwald made an effort to remain actively engaged through the far over-due rant. They talked well past midnight and by the time that Sigve finally felt ready to stop talking Berwald was doing a poor job of stifling his yawns.

              Sigve rolled around until he was able to properly look up at Berwald. The tears were over, but his still comfort was appreciated. Berwald gave him an awkward smile that was likely meant to be endearing. Try as he may, Sigve couldn’t help but laugh.  
“What?” Berwald asked, confused.  
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re more than just foreign,” Sigve shrugged and rolled his back to stretch the tight muscles. “Ber… I’m sorry.”

              Berwald gave him a questioning look, obviously not understanding where this was going. Sigve continued without prompting: “For bringing up Timo, for crashing at your place, for dumping all of this on you—for being so caught up with my boyfriend to maintain our friendship and—.”

“Don’t worry about ‘t. Life goes on.” He interrupted simply.

              At some point Berwald’s hands had made their way into Sigve’s hair. Once again, the two of them fell quiet. Sigve’s chest felt a little less hollow, and the pain was a little duller. In the moment, that was all he could really ask for. The feeling of Berwald carding his fingers through his hair was gentle and Sigve found himself dozing. He fell asleep for what felt like seconds, only to be roused by Berwald’s voice.

“Hope you don’t mind the couch, I haven’t got the guest room assembled yet.” He did sound genuinely apologetic too, but Sigve was half asleep and the couch sounded like a fast way to get a crick in his neck, which he would have none of. That… and it would mean one less night sleeping alone.

“I mind,” he grumbled.

              Berwald laughed in response, “And what? The prince takes my bed and I take the couch?”

“Just sleep there with me, it’s not like you’re some good Christian, Ber…” Sigve pushed himself up to a sitting position and shrugged. “If you’d really rather I didn’t, I’ll stay out here but I’m just trying to save you from meeting tired-me.”

              Berwald shook his head in amusement but didn’t outright exile Sigve to the couch. Berwald stood and stretched his stiff muscles then motioned to the hallway, granting him access to the bed. Sigve flashed him a pretty smile and followed suit. He grabbed his duffel bag and made his way to the back room after the tall man.

              While Berwald filled the hallways, Sigve seemed to slide through them. The difference was startling. But small as it was, the place seemed to fit Berwald. A piece of Sweden in the middle of Seattle. The city was just weird enough where cultural heritage could be mistaken for a quaint appreciation. The rustic meets modern look wasn’t too out there in this city. It just…fit him.

              Berwald had launched into his nightly routine when Sigve reached his room and so he quickly set about his own. It was amusing how efficient the Swede could be. He expended no more effort than was needed—in all situations. He looked like he’d somehow researched and rehearsed the most practical way to brush teeth, and there he was, doing just that. He shook his head and stripped down to his boxers then grabbed a t-shirt from his bag. He was so stupidly tired from all that crying, he just wanted to lay down and forget the last 6 years. He let himself sink into the mattress and closed his eyes but as he listened to Berwald shuffling around. Sigve couldn’t help but think of his nighttime routine with Mikkel and how it had changed over the years. He tried to shake the line of thinking, but it just kept coming back. All those nights spent together were done. And after tonight he’d be sleeping on his own. rying to forget why having someone there is better than sleeping alone.

              He cracked open his eyes when he felt Berwald’s side of the bed compress with his weight and heaved a sigh. Berwald tossed him a glance then settled in under the covers. As soon as Berwald laid down Sigve’s thoughts were forced away from Mikkel, giving him a brief relief from the onslaught of good and bad memories.

“Do you normally sleep in a full pajama set?” Sigve asked, impulsively, wanting to fill the silence.

“No, but I don’t normally have a strange Norwegian in my bed,” Berwald answered, clicking off the light.

              Sigve stared into the darkness for a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the near pitch blackness.

“I’m no stranger. Don’t let me change your sleeping habits, I’m just here for a night.”   
“It’s just a night, I’ll live.”  
“Alright then.”

              Once again, silence. Except this time there was no distraction from going into his head to think, and that was honestly the last place he wanted to be. Maybe he was moving around a lot or the increase in his stress level was palpable but Berwald turned to face him.  
“Need somethin’?” Berwald asked.  
              Sigve sat there, brain flicking through possible solutions to his current situation of racing, anxious thoughts about Mikkel. He had two solutions, one of which was sedating himself. The other one… The other one served as a reminder that his brain made some incredibly stupid decisions in the name of logic. Because logically speaking, he couldn’t let Berwald remind him of Mikkel if he was interacting with Berwald. That’s what he’d seen throughout the evening. When he was actively engaged with Berwald, it was just him and Berwald. All reflections of Mikkel were absent. And this was technically what was fair. He was entitled to some form of affection that was meaningless.

“Kiss me.”  
“Pardon?”  
“Would you kiss me?”  
“Not sure why I would..?” Berwald sounded bewildered.  
“Because you’re you, Ber,” Sigve rolled over so they were facing each other, “and you’re not Mikkel, and I’m asking you if you will.”  
“Sig…” Berwald began, and Sigve could feel the allusion to what they used to have coming and he really wasn’t in the mood for it.

“I just want a night that’s not filled with _him_ , alright?” After the words had come out he realized he was perfectly set up to make a lewd joke, but that could also ruin the moment so he held back. He moved a bit closer to Berwald. “If you ask me to, I’ll go to sleep.” He added, beginning to worry he may have offended him.

              But before he could worry about it too much longer Berwald was there, his work worn hand on his cheek and his lips against his own. Sigve could have melted into the kiss but instead pulled him closer, deeper into it. Instead of pulling back, Berwald instead braced one arm beside Sigve and inched closer. Smiling into the kiss, Sigve tugged Berwald closer still, wanting to be under him. Berwald pulled away from the kiss but moved towards him all the same.

“You only requested to be kissed, ya know…”

              Sigve snorted and searched through the darkness to find Berwald’s head and pull it down to connect their lips again. He knew he was making a joke, but he wanted to be kissed and not have to think. Because his brain had been right, there was no real thinking involved here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is in the works, but I do hope you enjoy this new chapter. It's decently long, so I hope it tides you all over as I struggle through the final chapter. In the meantime I'll be posting the first chapter of a Viking story with some historical details. It's called The Face of the Moon, check it out and let me know what you think. It'll be one of my longer works--I know, this isn't even long for me, imagine.

**Author's Note:**

> I've gone back and re-edited this piece and split some of the work up. I've got the final chapter in the works. Thanks for being patient.


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